Because the village road is a
dirt road, I couldn’t drive as fast as I had wanted. I could barely push the
accelerator above 15 miles per hour over the dirt roads on that December
morning. While driving with a vague mind, with no idea where the road is
leading to, I started thinking about what I had found in Mr. Reddington’s diary.
There’s a lot of information in that diary and I soon realized that he didn’t
tell me the complete story. I had staked everything I’m doing now on my belief
that I had the complete information, and I was disappointed that he kept a lot
of details from me.
I
really did not know why he did that to me. The contents of the diary showed
that the fifteenth day of January was going to be a day of destiny for Nigeria,
a bigger destiny than the killing of the Prime Minister Balewa. It was so big
that I stopped blaming Mr. Reddington for keeping me in the dark and for
wanting to play a lone hand: a lot of politicians had to go on that day, and
majority of them are the politicians from northern Nigeria, according to his
notes. This mean that many northern politicians might lose their lives come
January 15. And the consequences will be very grave – it might
lead Nigeria to a civil war. He doesn’t want me to overreact, and I was
pretty sure that that was his intention. Now, don’t get me wrong: I appreciate
the fact that he had confided in me something which sounded big enough.
However, I was very angry that the complete information was so big that he, the
man who had found it out, wanted it all to himself. Even as angry as I was
then, I didn’t blame him: he was seeking for an adventure.
There
were some gaps in his notes which, I believe, he would have filled from his
memory. He also used a unique ranking system which stood for how important or
serious of some names, words, and phrases in his notes are. The four names he
had written down were the names of some ministers or government departments, and
there was a man, Hafsatu Bello, who got five out of possible five points; and
another fellow, Festus Okotie Eboh, who got three. The barebones of his story
were all that was in his diary – these, and one strange phrase which occurred
more than six times inside brackets. “True Nigerian-ism in the Army!” was the
phrase; and at its last time of use, it ran – “(True Nigerian-ism in the Army!,
the hideout – very scary).” It made no sense to me.
The
first thing I learned was that the northern and southern Nigeria will
definitely go to war if these majors succeed in carrying out their plans.
Getting rid of Prime Minister Balewa and other northern politicians will
definitely be the last straw for the northerners. The second thing was that
this war will not be a surprise for the Ibos, who were one of the most educated
and intelligent tribes in Nigeria at the time. The five majors of the Nigerian
Army who are the coup plotters, are all from the southern Nigeria, the native
land of the Ibo tribe. So they already know that assassinating the Prime
Minister Tafawa Balewa and other prominent northern politicians would raise the
suspicion of the northerners that this is an ‘Ibo’ coup. The remaining northern
politicians and religious leaders wouldn’t like that, and there’s going to be
reprisal attack on the large population of Ibos who live in the north and who
own a lot of businesses and properties there. The Yorubas and the other tribes,
who felt marginalized, would pretend to play the peacemaker, but their true
intention would be to watch the two warring tribes decimate each other and then
grab the fallouts from the mayhem.
But
all these depended upon the third thing, which was due to happen after the coup
d’état, that is, if it become
successful. According to Mr. Reddington’s notes, in spite of the nonsense
talked about in the Nigerian Parliament about national unity, what they have in
Nigeria is tribal and regional allegiance. Hence, nationalism doesn’t exist in
Nigeria. But the five majors knew that, at that time, almost half of the
high-ranking position in the Nigerian Army are occupied by the Ibos. Not only
that, the Ibo tribes occupied top positions in federal civil service, the
police, the Navy and the Air Force. So, the five majors figured that they can
use this massive manpower to impose a long-lasting martial
law in northern Nigeria after the coup. This way they can maintain law and order in the northern Nigeria
and prevent the outbreak of civil war after the coup.
Of
course there will still be some northern politicians and soldiers who will
raise lots of noise about the way the northerners are being treated, especially
as a result of the martial law. Mr. Reddington was content to call them Code
778. The majors have a simple plan on how to silence them: cash payments and
lucrative government contracts. They figure that if they can keep disgruntled
northern politicians and soldiers placated with cash payments and lucrative
government contracts, they will help rein in
the northern indigenes. That, together with the martial law will keep
the north in check and within a few years, the coup will be forgotten. Mr.
Reddington did not believe that that would be the case. He was convinced that
nothing can stop Nigeria from going into a full scale civil war if the five
majors went ahead with their plan.
This
was Mr. Reddington’s analysis of the event, and was the story I had been
deciphering in a back room of Village
Breeze Guest House. This was the story that hummed in my mind as I swung in
the Blue Peugeot 404 saloon car from hamlet to hamlet without having any idea
of where I was heading to.
At
this point I was again tempted to reach out to the Prime Minister Balewa by
writing to him directly or calling the
American Embassy. The problem is that I have no idea of where the nearest Post
Office is – Nigeria seldom have Post Offices in their villages at the time. How
about the telephone? Don’t even ask. Only a very few wealthy and educated
Nigerians had landlines in their homes at the time. And I’m sure that most of
them have heard about me by now, so it will be too risky to approach any of
them now – that is, if I knew who they are. Besides, like I had mentioned
before, who would believe my tale? The Prime Minister’s Office? The American
Embassy? A little reflection convinced me that informing them now would be too
risky and useless. They would think I was crazy. In any case, they would arrest
me for Mr. Reddington’s murder anyway. To listen to my tale at all, I must show
them some token of proof and some kind of probable cause that would
justify the conduction of an
investigation of the Nigerian Army officials. I simply don’t have those proofs.
Above all, like the sharks which must swim constantly or they die, I must keep moving myself, ready to act
whenever my life is threatened. I knew that
it was going to be a tough job for me, given that the Nigerian police
are after me now and the men loyal to the five majors are moving silently and
swiftly on my trail.
I
had no clear purpose in my journey, but my map showed that all these time I
have been going back and forth the Sagamu and Abeokuta countryside. I kept
driving, running alongside a long wall built around a village high school and
passing many huts and thick forests. In a break of the trees I saw a huge
mansion. That’s one thing with Nigerian villages: in the midst of large number
of poor houses one often see a big house built with all kinds of modern
facilities, and I often pondered the sharp contrast among the homes of the
indigenes. Anyway, I continued driving through old thatched hamlets and
villages, and over peaceful lowland streams, past farmlands blazing with cassava, yams and corn leaves.
The hamlets and villages looked so peaceful that I could scarcely believe that
somewhere behind me were those who wants me dead at all cost. And that in a
month’s time, unless I’m lucky enough to be alive and to convince both the
Prime Minister’s Office and the American Embassy to act, this beautiful country
will be fighting an unnecessary civil
war that would destroy lots of lives and properties.
It’s
12 noon by my watch as I entered a long straggling town called Ijebu-Ode. By
that time I was really hungry, and I started looking for a neat restaurant
where I can eat. I can’t have enough of Nigerian dishes! Half-way down was
Ijebu-Ode Post Office, and on the steps stood the postman and a policeman hard
at work on a telephone and telegram. They suddenly became alert when they saw
me – my guess was that they recognized my car. The policeman advanced with
raised hand, and shouted at me to stop. I almost did, but then it flashed upon
me that the phone call and the telegram had to do with me. I became convinced
that the police and my friends at the Village Breeze Guest House had come to an
understanding, and were united in desiring to capture me, and that they had
called in the description of me and the car to all the neighboring towns
through which I might pass. I quickly released the brakes just in time and, as
I did that, the policeman tried to jump on top of the car’s hood. I managed to push him away and drove
off with speed.
END OF EPISODE 8
P.S. Stay tuned for Episode
9, which will be published here next Sunday.
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